


let us be eternal

by Ceryna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Timeskip, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceryna/pseuds/Ceryna
Summary: He has two home addresses tucked away inside his maps app — one during the season, and one for the weekends and the duration of the off-season. A home made for him, towering on the eighth story in metropolitan Osaka, and a home he worked to build, hands plastered and paint-stained as he laid the foundations of love in a countryside heart.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68
Collections: MSBY Exchange





	let us be eternal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mellojello999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellojello999/gifts).



> Thank you to the mods for hosting the exchange! So excited to be part of this one, and look forward to seeing what everyone creates! And a thank you to mellojello999 for your variety of prompts - I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Additional thanks to my super wonderful and lovely beta reader, Basti💙. This work is at its best because of you.

It’s the little things.

_Good morning_ texts. Packages of rice, delivered to his doorstep once a month. Letters with polaroids tucked inside envelopes, glowing beige on top of the coffee brown of the bag. Index cards with handwritten recipes, suggestions scrawled in familiar kanji in blue ink — distinct from the black lines of amounts and ingredients. 

How he perpetually has a half-packed duffel bag in the left corner of his bedroom — ready to leave for Hyogo at a moment’s notice if practice is cancelled, or if Shinsuke can’t make it down to meet him. 

How he has two home addresses tucked away inside his maps app — one during the season, and one for the weekends and the duration of the off-season. A home made for him, towering on the eighth story in metropolitan Osaka, and a home he worked to build, hands plastered and paint-stained as he laid the foundations of love in a countryside heart. 

How he carries Shin with him everywhere he goes, in everything he does. On that court gilded brown and white, in armor black and gold, Shin presses a palm between his shoulders. Shin folds a reminder to maintain good posture into Atsumu’s vertebrae, kind and reassuring. 

And when Atsumu smiles out there — grins for the cameras and closes callused fingers into a fist to silence the crowd — he does it for himself, but also for Shin. Even if Shin can’t be watching right at that moment, he’s well attuned to the sound of Atsumu’s smile — the force that puts spectators under his spell. 

But it’s Shin that’s long since captured _Atsumu’s_ attention. Shin, whose sunwarmed, rain-scented hands reached to knock softly against his ribcage in answer to the only love letter Atsumu has ever written — penned in black ink on rumpled stationery and nestled inside a cloud-grey envelope. 

It’s Shin that welcomes him into his apartment after a long week of practice-eat-sleep-repeat. And as Atsumu trudges over his doorstep, draping himself haphazardly into Shin’s open and waiting arms, he knows it’s not _just_ the little things. 

“Welcome home,” Shinsuke murmurs into Atsumu’s shoulder, breath warm as it ghosts through the thin fabric of his T—shirt. 

“Mm.” Atsumu nods, his cheek rustling dip-dyed strands of hair. “I’m home.” He kicks the door shut behind them, ignores the telltale beep of the electric lock, and slides his sports bag off his shoulder. 

It thuds to the floor, impact muffled by Shin’s sneakers. 

“I started dinner.” 

Those are magic words. They coax Atsumu’s feet out of his shoes, encourage him to stride into the kitchen and join Shin in front of the stove. Well, really, Shin’s the one in front of the stove — Atsumu’s at the sink washing his hands. He props an elbow on the counter to the right of the convection burners, rests his chin in his palm with a lazy smile.

Since Shin _started_ making dinner, it means he’s gone through most of the steps to prepare the food to cook without actually beginning to cook just yet. He’s taken care of the steps where Atsumu’d most likely hurt his fingers, and left the rest for them to finish together. 

Atsumu presses a finger to the touch dials along the front edge of the stovetop. “Five?”

“Mhm.” 

The stovetop beeps, burner glowing red beneath the frying pan. Ingredients sit on the counter, neatly separated in bowls: broccoli, minced garlic, sliced onions and mushrooms, and chicken, diced into bite-size chunks. 

A small saucepan sits on the back burner warming on power two. Aromas of soy and honey waft towards him — the mixture has been warmed so brown sugar and ginger can melt into it, creating Shin’s special blend of teriyaki. 

“Chicken and broccoli firs’, righ’?” Atsumu holds his breath as Shin’s smile reaches his toffee eyes. And at Shin’s nod, Atsumu lets that air whoosh out of his lungs as he spoons the ingredients into the pan.

The quiet kitchen erupts into sizzles, the oil of the chicken hissing against hot teflon. Shinsuke reaches for the spices on the counter to the left of the cooktop, sprinkling more than a pinch of salt and cracking pepper over it. 

Onions and mushrooms are next. Atsumu stirs them occasionally as they cook, frying in chicken juices and the dash of sesame oil that Shin drizzles on top. 

Atsumu loves how the faint aroma of steamed rice blends with the scents of the browning chicken, tinged with notes of sweetness in the teriyaki sauce. He loves the satisfaction of being able to cook — a hobby that has always been his brother’s, and therefore felt far out of reach — the tenderness tucked into Shin’s every instruction and careful guidance. 

And most of all, he loves how, in these moments when the food is almost done, Shin draws that much closer. He’ll fold himself around Atsumu — into his side, sidling up to his back. Sometimes he’ll lean on Atsumu fully, wrap his arms around Atsumu’s waist and rest his cheek where he can hear Atsumu’s heartbeat from the back. 

Tonight, though, Shinsuke crosses the floor to Atsumu’s other side. He raises his right hand, guides Atsumu’s fingers to the bowl of minced garlic. Together, they pick it up and dump it in to fry with the chicken and veggies in the second to last step. 

The spice is fragrant, browning quickly as Atsumu stirs it around, and Shin switches to stand at Atsumu’s left once more. He presses warm, callused fingertips to the back of Atsumu’s non-stirring hand, reaches it towards the ladle resting next to the sauce. 

Together, they fill the ladle about halfway, maybe two thirds, and pour it loosely over the chicken. 

The sauce spatters into the pan. Shinsuke adjusts the heat of the burner down to a _three_ and the rice steamer chirps, singsonging that the taste of home is ready to enjoy.

Atsumu hands the stirrer to Shin, pulls down two bowls from the cabinet. He fills those partway with steaming rice, making sure to close the lid once he’s done — and holds rapidly warming ceramic out to Shin.

Chicken and vegetables are coated in a glaze, staining the rice golden brown as they’re plopped artfully over the granules. The teriyaki melts, and as Atsumu catches the smile on Shin’s face, his heart does the same.

He answers that sunshine smile with one of his own, blindly rifling through the drawer for chopsticks and hands Shin the first set he finds. The second he keeps for himself, terribly mismatched in colors — but they’re the same length, so they’ll work just fine.

“Thank you for the food,” Atsumu whispers. He doesn’t need to be loud for Shin to hear him, to hear the unsaid sentiments nestled beneath the words. They coat his voice in that teriyaki glaze — _thank you for watching me, thank you for guiding me, thank you for your love —_ tasting ever so sweet. 

“Thank you for the food,” Shinsuke echoes. But instead of taking a bite, he sets the bowl aside — sets it on the countertop and leans up on his toes, places a kiss into the corner of Atsumu’s mouth. “Let’s eat,” he whispers onto Atsumu’s lips, leaving mint and sugarcane behind. 

Atsumu’s tongue dips out in that corner, searching for and savoring every bit of Shin he’s lucky enough to share in. And one word falls from his lips, a breath of a promise for their future. 

“Let’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> If you have guesses about who I am, please don't include them in the comments. 
> 
> I'll be back with some more thoughts on this work after the creator reveals on 31 July. Until then~
> 
> -
> 
> Edit 07/31/2020  
> hello it is I!! Again, thank you so much for reading- this work comes from a very special corner of my heart that I'm excited to be able to share with you all. 
> 
> I'm on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)!


End file.
